


Mutual Understanding

by lowflyingfruit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, canon-typical family dysfunction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowflyingfruit/pseuds/lowflyingfruit
Summary: A ten-second run-in with a magical artefact has dire consequences when the Batboys end up in the wrong bodies. For the duration, though, they're going to have to live each other's lives as best they can. It sounds easier than it is, and it didn't sound easy to start with. Worse, everyone who knows them thinks it's hilarious.It's going to be a long week in Gotham.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning here for some mental health issues and some shitty attitudes to mental health issues.

“Come on, Red Robin, wake up.”

That was Damian’s voice, Tim could have sworn. Only Damian usually called him things like ‘ingrate’ rather than address him by his codename. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, but his entire body felt like lead. Even his eyelids.

“There we go,” Damian said. “C’mon, up and at ‘em, little bro.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open. _Little_ bro? He saw warehouse roof and tried to roll over, but _damn_ he felt heavy. The concrete of the warehouse floor felt like it was actively poking him in every bone, too, and his muscles felt like flat slabs of dull ache. Last thing he remembered, they were going after the Penguin, since he’d branched out into shipping things decidedly more _magical_ -

“Now, don’t panic,” Damian continued, in that same calm tone.

Off to the right, he heard a snort. “Don’t panic? Yeah, right.” That was Dick’s voice.

“Don’t panic,” Damian repeated. “Take a deep breath, and look down at yourself. Don’t panic. Just a little magical accident, nothing to worry about.”

“You keep reassuring me,” Tim said, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than he stopped in absolute horror. That wasn’t his voice. He didn’t know whose voice it was. _You keep reassuring me and it makes it worse_.

“Nothing to worry about,” Damian’s voice said firmly. “You’re in Red Hood’s body right now. Magical accident, like I said. Stay calm and we’ll get back to the cave and get this fixed up.”

Tim rolled over, wincing as he rolled over a gun strapped to his hip. Jason’s hip. It hurt. He took in the calm, reassuring words and the small smile on Damian’s face - not anything that he associated with Damian, but - “Nightwing? What happened?"

The smile that produced looked downright _weird_. Tim had literally never seen Damian smile like that. Not even at Dick. “Yep. Magical accident. Strange urn, fell, broke, bright lights, and now we're all in the wrong bodies. Nothing to panic too much about. It's happened to me before with the Titans, it's happened to Bruce and the League, it can be fixed. For the moment, though, just stay calm."

Tim’s mind raced. “Wait,” he said, voice unfamiliar in his own throat. Or Jason’s throat. Argh, this was going to be confusing. “Wait, if you’re in Robin’s body, and I’m in Red Hood’s, that means either…Robin’s in your body, or…”

“Robin is in your body,” Dick said, voice level. “If you _have_ to panic, panic now, while he’s still unconscious. I would like you to be calm as possible when he wakes up, because we need to set some ground rules.”

Dick’s voice added, “It could be worse. You could be in Robin’s body.” He paused, and an unfamiliar smirk spread across Dick’s features. It was almost as strange as seeing Damian smile genuinely. “Or maybe you’d like the opportunity to get a little payback? Be Robin again?”

“Shut up,” Tim snapped. He couldn’t think of many worse things. “This isn’t funny.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m borrowing Goldie. How is it _not_ going to be funny for me?”

“This is one of the things we need to set rules about, straight away,” Dick said. He was crouched over Tim’s body, _Damian_. It had been about a minute, and he already felt violated. The little demon in his body. ‘Ick, gross’ did not cover the situation. “We all have to be sensible and respectful about this.”

Yeah, right. As if Damian could be trusted in Tim’s body. With Tim’s job. With Tim’s secrets. And what the hell was he supposed to do with Jason’s body, anyway?

Tim got up and started moving around. He still ached everywhere, and movement itself felt strange. Jason’s body was larger and heavier than his own. It was a bit like driving a truck. Once he felt confident enough to at least _run_ in Jason’s body without falling flat on his face, he tried stretching. Jason was less flexible than he was, too.

“Oh man,” Jason said. “That is not fair.” While Dick occupied himself with waking up Damian, Jason had been doing much the same as Tim had, but in Dick’s body, and with much less success. He kept wobbling. “I can now confirm that Nightwing doesn’t actually have bones like other people. I don’t know how he stays upright.”

Tim started to answer, but that was interrupted by a horrified, inarticulate shout of disgust.

“What’s the matter?” Tim asked. “My body not good enough for you?”

Damian scowled, and on Tim’s own face it looked downright feral. “No,” he said, teeth bared. “Did you expect any other answer?”

“Robin!” Dick snapped. 

Damian looked down and jumped. “Nightwing?” he asked, tentatively.

“Yes. Now that we’re all awake, like I said, we need to go over a few matters.”

“You’re so…small,” Damian said.

“I think you’ll find that you’re the one who’s small, brat,” Jason said. His leer still looked strange on Nightwing’s face. At least there wasn’t likely to be any confusion between the two. “Though ‘wing here _is_ pretty short, now that I’m looking up at myself.”

“We need to go over these rules,” Dick said. “Now.” It was strange looking down at him, let alone that far down. Tim had gone from second-shortest to tallest; Jason’s eye level was a long way up from where he was used to. But unlike Jason wobbling around in Dick’s body and Tim clomping around as though Jason’s body was a pair of too-large boots, Dick had somehow (and unfairly) managed to retain a bit of Damian’s grace. On top of that, the way he held himself was pure Nightwing. Everyone listened to Nightwing.

When he saw he had their attention, he said, “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation. The Titans ran into something like this a few years ago, and we developed a plan which I think will still be useable, no matter how long the situation extends for. We’re going to call for the car and return to the cave to call an expert. In the meantime, respect and tact are all-important. 

“There are three general principles for handling bodyswap situations. First, anything you learn about the person whose body you’re inhabiting through inhabiting it stays confidential. Second, treat the body you’re in as its owner would - right down to public behaviour, if necessary, since you’re not the one who will be living with the consequences. Third, no mistaken identity tricks. If someone thinks they’re speaking to the body’s owner and they’re not, and you’re able to correct them safely, you do so. This is not an excuse to snoop. Are these rules acceptable?”

“You’re no fun, Goldie,” Jason said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “It’s no fun, no,” he conceded, “But we still had a functional team after we’d all been bodyswapped for a week, though. Come on, I want you all to promise. I’ll be keeping to those rules, Robin, just so you know.”

“I appreciate that,” Damian said, in Tim’s voice. Did he really sound like that? He couldn’t. That inflection was 100% Damian. “Very well. I will make that same agreement.”

Tim shot a glance at Dick. He didn’t trust Damian to hold to it, but Dick nodded encouragingly. “Fine,” Tim said.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said. “Now, who’s driving us back? I don’t think any of us are up there on the manual dexterity front yet.”

 

—

 

In the end they used the self-driving program. They’d never actually all been in the car together. It was…cramped. Or maybe that was just Jason’s stupid amount of bulk influencing Tim’s perception. Every time they hit the slightest unevenness in the road, he felt like he was going to hit his head on the car roof. Dick was the one to risk picking up the shards of the artefact, and the one who wrapped them up in Damian's cape and nursed them all the way back to the cave. They all piled out at the end of the trip to find Bruce waiting for them, and not even he could hide how amused he was. Somehow, Tim doubted that he _wanted_ to hide his amusement.

“I’ve called Zatanna already,” he said. “She’ll be here in the morning. Six hours at the latest.”

Neither Tim nor Damian could suppress a groan. Six hours or so was six hours or so too long for this situation to continue. What a disaster. At least six hours with the little demon in _his_ body.

He’d need to talk to Damian. There was no way around it. He had to talk to Damian. There were no alternatives left. No _real_ alternatives.

“You okay?” Dick asked, looking up at Tim through Damian’s eyes. That last fact made what he had to do all the more galling. If Damian was in his own damn skull none of this would be a problem. At the same time, it wasn’t Dick’s fault. It wasn’t even Damian’s fault. And that just plain sucked.

“No,” Tim said.

“Did you need to talk to Damian?”

It was all the more embarrassing to have Dick mention it. “Yeah.” Across the cave from them, Damian was pouting in a high-backed chair. Even with Tim’s greater height he was still swallowed up by it. He had terrible posture when he was sulking, and he was going to do a number on Tim’s back that way.

“Go for it,” Dick encouraged him. “We need to be able to talk each other through this.”

“Do we _have_ to?”

“Yes. I know it’s awkward -“ Tim snorted derisively, but Dick kept going “- but we really do have to communicate properly. Go talk to him. It’s for your own good as well.”

It was logical. Sensible. Dick was probably even _right_. Tim didn’t want to do it.

He sighed heavily and stood, also heavily. Jason’s body didn’t seem to move any other way. How much muscle did he even need to cart around, anyway? Dick gave him an encouraging smile as he trudged over to Damian. But as soon as he was standing in front of his own body, inhabited by someone else, words failed him.

“What is it?” Damian snapped. “You’re making Todd look stupider than he actually is.”

Typical Damian, really. At least it spurred him into action. “I need you for a second. Follow me.”

This time it was Damian who shot a glance at Dick, but again Dick smiled reassuringly. “Very well,” he said. He got up and consented to trail behind Tim. Not that Tim liked having Damian at his back. Not at all. At least he was still taller, and if Damian did attack him, in Jason’s body he was stronger and heavier as well. There was that. Tim led Damian all the way to the door of his room, then said, “Wait there.”

He went into his bathroom. He could do this. He got out the box of pills he needed and returned to Damian. “You’ll need to take these every night, starting twenty minutes from now.”

“What are they?” Damian asked.

“Medicine,” Tim said. “That you need to take. Every night. Starting twenty minutes from now. Hopefully you’ll only have to take it the once.” And hopefully, Damian would never need to find out what it was.

His hopes were dashed immediately. “I refuse to take this without knowing its purpose,” Damian said.

Tim could never catch a break. If they had to get body-swapped, how come it couldn’t be Dick in his body? Or Jason? Either would be better than this. It wasn’t fair. But, as with so many other things in his life, he just had to deal with it. “It’s anxiety medication,” Tim said, and tried hard to ignore how Damian’s head jerked up sharply. “It has to be taken regularly.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need such a thing?” he asked.

“I would have thought that would be obvious,” Tim said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster. Right now, he hated everything. A lot. Damian most of all. “I have _anxiety_. So I take _medication_ for it.” Damian opened his mouth to say something else, and Tim snapped. “Not a word. None. I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want Dick or Jason to find out about it. Keep whatever oh-so-witty comment you were going to make behind your teeth. Just take the damn pill in twenty minutes. Make sure you eat something with it.”

Damian sneered, but thankfully, didn’t say anything. Good thing, too, because Tim was that close to punching him for the question alone. Instead, Damian spun on his heel and stalked off, back in the direction of the cave. Tim let him go, not because he had anything to do in his own room except fiddle with his clothes and wonder if he’d have to borrow Jason’s, but because he couldn’t face heading to the cave in Damian’s company.

Hell with all of this. Tim hated it already, and the solution wasn’t as easy as swapping back. There wasn’t a single damn thing he could do to make Damian forget what Tim had already been forced to reveal.

 

—

 

In the end, Tim just collapsed onto his bed, hoping to sleep through this shitty situation. He woke up feeling grimy, because he’d slept in Jason’s Red Hood clothing. He ached in strange places as well. Probably Jason’s scars. Also, there were certain biological functions demanding attention. Tim did his best not to look while he did what he needed to do. 

Then he had to go down to the cave and face the music. Hopefully Zatanna as well, and hopefully she had a solution. On the upside, he didn’t feel as bleary as he usually did in the mornings.

He ran into Alfred halfway down the hall. “Master Timothy,” Alfred greeted him. “I was just coming to get you.”

“I see you know already,” Tim said.

“Master Bruce informed me first thing this morning. Your brothers are all downstairs. Breakfast will be waiting for you in the kitchen.” He handed over a stack of clothing, all of which were clearly Jason’s size. “Most importantly, Ms Zatanna is expected in half an hour.”

From experience, Tim knew that to be an order to bathe before the guest arrived. He did so, again, trying not to look. He couldn’t help but notice some of Jason’s scars anyway. While the Lazarus Pit had wiped away a lot of the smaller ones, the older stuff, there were plenty of new scars. Already he had the usual mess of healed scrapes on his knuckles.

This wasn’t an excuse to snoop, Tim reminded himself. No looking. Jason’s injuries were his business.

He did feel better once he’d showered, though.

He got to the cave just as Zatanna stepped through the zeta beam. “Morning, boys,” she said. “Morning, Bruce. So I hear you’re in a bit of a pickle.”

“What we are in,” Damian seethed, “is entirely the wrong bodies.” He hadn’t got changed. He was still wearing Tim’s Red Robin gear.

Zatanna blinked, then turned to Damian’s body, and asked, “Are you Tim?”

“Nope,” Dick said. Unlike Damian, he’d changed clothes, into some of Damian’s plain black training gear. It wasn’t often anyone saw Dick wearing something so devoid of colour. “Dick.”

“Oh,” Zatanna said. “That’s unfortunate.”

Tim’s heart sank.

“What’s unfortunate?” Bruce asked, speaking for all of them.

Zatanna looked at all four of them in their aggravating predicament, then at Bruce. “It’s not a bilateral swap,” she said. “Or a pair of bilateral swaps. Much more difficult to break, whether or not I have the focus of the spell on hand.”

“But you can break it, right?” Tim asked.

“Oh, sure. It’ll wear off in a week or so by itself, these things are almost never meant to be permanent and the ones that are stick out a mile, magically speaking, but I can break it no problems. No problems for _me._ I would advise _you_ against it. Strongly.”

Damian, still scowling up a storm (he was going to pull a facial muscle at this rate), asked, “Why is that?”

“Nasty side effects,” Zatanna said. “Migraines, vertigo, blurred vision, mood swings, greatly increased susceptibility to mind magic of any type. That’s what happens when you forcibly break a simple swap. A complex one like this? All four of you would be out of commission for weeks while those side effects wore off. It’s much easier to let the spell wear out naturally. Breaking the spell's the sort of thing you do in emergencies.”

“I refuse to stay in this body a second longer than I must,” Damian announced. “Break the spell.”

Zatanna looked him in the eye and said, “Not unless all four of you agree. Without being threatened or bullied into it. Ethics, you know.”

Decisions, decisions. Tim didn’t like the sound of those side effects. He’d had migraines before. They sucked. He’d been under mind magic once too. That also sucked. And if he had to be bodyswapped, he could handle being in Jason’s body.

On the other hand, Damian was in his body. “I vote break the spell,” Tim said.

Next, he looked to Dick. Dick looked torn, yet another expression that was deeply weird on Damian’s face. “I don’t like the sound of that at all,” he said. For what it was worth, Tim couldn’t imagine Dick ever suffering from vertigo. “But I don’t like the idea of Damian and Tim suffering, either.”

Everyone looked at Jason, lounging ostentatiously on a chair across the room. “Let’s see,” he drawled. “A few weeks of puking every time I look down and worrying about being brain-jacked, or a week of being Goldie. Hmm, let me think.”

“I’ll take that as a no,” Zatanna said.

“Father!” Damian appealed. “Make Todd change his decision.”

Bruce sighed. “Damian, you heard Zatanna’s requirements. If you persuade Jason, _then_ Zatanna will break the spell. I know from experience how unpleasant those side effects can be. If Jason doesn’t want to deal with them, I’m not going to make him, nor ask Zatanna to do something she’s opposed to. It’s not an emergency situation. You can deal with the inconvenience for a week or so.”

Damian protested again (“Inconvenience! Hardly! This is a _disaster_ ”), and Tim let the words flow by, resigned to a miserable week. Impersonating the Red Hood was going to be hard enough. Jason’s style wasn’t Tim’s. Tim wasn’t even sure he knew what Jason _did_ all day. He suspected Jason’s Red Hood job was a full-time occupation.

Worse was the issue of how Damian was going to impersonate _him_. Tim had a job. Important duties. If he didn’t do a good job, that could have impacts on more than just the family.

This was going to have to be handled very carefully.


	2. On The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys start trying to sort out the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your additional content notes for those who like a heads up: like last chapter, mental health issues and shitty attitudes to mental health issues, and new in this chapter, a brief discussion of police violence.

Academically, Jason knew why the Replacement and the brat were so upset about the bodyswap thing. In practice, Jason couldn’t help it. A bit of wobbliness on his feet aside, he was having a blast. He was never going to let Dickhead forget this, if he could help it.

Provided he didn’t fall on his face too much, because Dick’s limbs really _were_ made of rubber and his joints moved in even stranger ways. Standing up was harder than his brain expected, but _damn_ he could sprawl and lounge and slink around well in this body. Better yet, the strength difference between him and Dick wasn’t as great as Jason had thought. Most of Dick was muscle, something Jason academically appreciated was necessary for the sort of acrobatics he did, but hadn’t practically appreciated before now. Good stuff. He’d have to arrange to spar with Dick later and get some of his own back.

In the meantime, he wasn’t a _completely_ heartless bastard. Over in his real body, Tim wasn’t looking like he was having much fun. Fair enough. He hated the brat and the brat hated him. Their recent detente didn’t mean they liked each other any better. “What’s the problem?” he asked Tim.

“Work,” Tim said tersely. Over near the main computer, Bruce was trying to say goodbye to Zatanna while Damian threw a tantrum at not getting his way. It was 300% funnier when Damian was in Tim’s body. “I have some meetings that I can’t skip. Damian will have to go.”

“Worried he’s going to ruin your reputation?”

“Worried that he’s going to ruin R&D for the next decade,” Tim said. “Do you know how high-strung half the people there are?”

Tim calling anyone high-strung sounded like the proverbial pot and kettle situation to Jason, but he knew better than to say that aloud. After all, Tim was probably right, and half of R&D probably _would_ freak out at Damian’s personal brand of motivational speech. “You could get Bruce to go,” he suggested.

Tim snorted. “You mean Brucie. And no. Why do you think I ended up running R&D in the first place?”

Right. Bruce wasn’t allowed to show three brain cells together in public. Because of The Mission. “What about Lucius Fox? Surely he could take care of an R&D meeting.”

“On leave.”

“Tell them you’ve got a bad case of stomach flu and reschedule?”

“Last resort,” Tim said, borrowed face grim. “That would put us behind on some important projects.”

“Nothing for it,” Jason said. “You’re going to have to brief Damian. Extensively. Look on the bright side, it’ll be funny watching him pretend to be you.” The thought did not seem to bring Tim anywhere near the amusement that very same thought brought Jason. Oh well. If Tim was determined to be miserable, Jason couldn’t change that.

Tim asked, “Is there anything I have to do to pretend to be you?”

“During the day? Not really,” Jason said. There were a few things Tim _could_ do, but none of them were pressing, and whatever Dick said about not using what they found out about others from this experience, Jason didn’t believe Tim wouldn’t. No more than Bruce wouldn’t. That wasn’t how they did things. “Being the Red Hood is a full time job. Maybe stay away from Black Mask’s territory. Oh, and the Penguin’s, I pissed him off pretty bad last week, and I doubt the warehouse raiding thing will help.”

More grim expressions. Did Jason’s face really look like that? If it did, he needed to stop scowling before he got wrinkles as bad as Bruce’s. And Tim needed to lighten up. “And at night?”

“Patrol,” Jason said. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to kill anyone.” He tried not to do it, since the family got so goddamn precious about it. “Just be seen around my neighbourhood. That’s all.”

Tim didn’t look all that happy about the idea, but he nodded anyway. “I can probably do that. It might take me a day or two to learn how to move like you well enough to pass, but once I do, that should be possible.”

“All I need from you,” Jason said. It shouldn’t be that hard. Way less difficult than trying to teach Damian how to do whatever it was Tim did at Wayne Enterprises. Something that probably involved spreadsheets. Man, Jason was glad that whatever it was Dick did for a living these days, it probably didn’t involve spreadsheets. Assuming, of course, that Dick was earning a living. He flitted from job to job fairly often, and Jason hadn’t heard anything recently. With any luck that meant that Dick was between jobs, and Jason could spend this inconvenient interlude doing most of the same stuff he normally did. Research, mostly.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Tim asked abruptly. “Injuries, medications, things like that?”

Jason thought about it. “Nah, I’m pretty healthy at the moment. Right elbow gives me some trouble when it rains, from when I broke it last year, but that’s about it, not even Lazarus Pit issues. I can bring some more clothes over for you too, no problem.”

On the other side of the Batcave, Damian was at last winding down into a good simmering sulk. Tim was watching him with suspicion. Fair enough - if Jason was worried Tim would give his face wrinkles, Tim must be worried that Damian would pop one of Tim’s veins. “There’s only so much damage he can do in a week,” Jason said.

Tim snorted. “That’s what you think,” he said. “Excuse me. I need to prepare that briefing.”

He walked off, still looking stiff and uncomfortable in Jason’s body. A day or two and he’d make a passable Red Hood. And hey, he didn’t look nearly as silly as Jason felt wobbling around in Mr Rubber-Bones’ body. Jason had to get that sorted, and fast.

Heading over to the training area, he started trying to do a basic warm-up. God, stretching was easy for Dick. No fair. Not even the slightest little twinge.

“I hope you don’t leave it there,” Damian’s voice said from nearby. “I wouldn’t want to get too stiff.”

“Fuck you, Dick,” Jason said. He was stretching so deeply he’d folded himself in half. “This is further than I’ve ever stretched before.”

“That won’t last,” Dick said, “Not while you’re using my body.”

“Don’t care. Was there something you wanted?” Because of course there would be something he wanted. There had to be, under the circumstances, and they were just doing the awkward I-need-a-favour dance before they got down to business.

Dick looked up at him from Damian’s rather short height. “I have work tomorrow,” Dick said. He was trying for a casual tone, but he hadn’t quite worked out how to get that in Damian’s voice yet.

He uncurled, groaning. “Of course you do.” So much for more research and the general idea of kicking back and enjoying his body-vacation. “Okay, how do I call in sick?”

“I can’t,” Dick said. “It’s my second week on the job.”

“Explosive diarrhea can strike on the second week of the job every bit as easily as it can strike in the tenth year on the job,” Jason countered.

“Jason, please. It’s my _second week_. I don’t want to blow this. I can catch you up on what you need to know, for the most part.”

There had to be a catch to this. Dick was looking up at him from Damian’s decidedly inferior height, but damn if it didn’t seem the puppy-dog eyes were a skill. That was also unfair. And made Jason all the more suspicious that there was something Dick wasn’t telling him. “What _is_ this job?” Jason asked.

Dick hesitated, which made him look even smaller. Like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I joined the police,” he said.

“No,” Jason said. “Absolutely not. You’ve just come down with explosive diarrhea.”

“Jason, _please_ ,” Dick said.

 

—

 

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Jason grumbled. They were driving to Dick’s place in Bludhaven. Well, Jason was driving. Dick’s car, in Dick’s body. He hadn’t had to adjust a single mirror. He didn’t know which was weirdest. Wearing Dick’s clothes, maybe.

Dick himself was in the passenger seat, bouncing nervously. It made him - or Damian’s body, anyway - look even younger. Damian as an excitable eight-or-nine-year-old, rather than the grim and serious eleven he actually was. But if the jitters were childish, there was still something very grown-up about Dick’s voice when he said, “It won’t be so bad. I know you can do it.”

He kept his eyes on the road. He was less confident. “I hate cops,” he ground out, not for the first time this trip. “Why on earth did I agree to this?”

“Because you’re a good man, Jason.”

“And you’re a manipulative son of a -“ he cut himself off. There was no need for that. “Just - a cop? Really? You?”

“Went to the police academy and everything,” Dick said.

“I thought you were undercover!”

“Nope. Police academy.” He smiled. “You can think of it as going undercover now, if you like.”

Jason swore. Then said, “Sorry. I know, I promised. Act like you in public, because I wouldn’t want Tim to pay me back in kind.”

“Not quite,” Dick said. “Tim wouldn’t pay you back like that, not even if you messed up acting like me. Not even if he thought you’d done it on purpose.”

With a few directions from Dick, they pulled into his parking space at his apartment block. Jason had never come here as a civilian before. Ah, new experiences. New experiences like _being a cop_. When he took the keys from the engine, he offered them back to Dick, but Dick shook his head. “You’ll be needing them,” he said. “Apartment keys are on that ring too.”

Weirder and weirder. Dick’s body was one thing, ‘cause a superhero’s life was full of this sort of bizarro shit, but having Dick’s _stuff_ …at least it was only for a week.

Dick’s apartment was a mess, something that always baffled Jason when he encountered it. Dick could manage the Titans, his own work as a vigilante, a job, and dealing with their fucked-up family, but he couldn’t keep a room clean and tidy. He had the skills to organise. He _had_ to have the skills to organise or he couldn’t do any of it. He just didn’t organise housecleaning. Jason sighed as he shovelled a load of mostly-clean laundry off a sofa.

Actually, he might be needing those clothes later. He started to sort through them, trying to find a compromise between Dick’s taste and his own, while Dick hunted around his apartment for the things Jason would need to impersonate him convincingly. After a few minutes Dick came back with uniform, a bunch of papers, and - 

\- and a _gun_.

“Bruce isn’t going to like that,” Jason said. He surreptitiously checked Dick’s hands - his hands, for the time being. When everything else was so very different, this was the same. So much so that he hadn’t even thought about it. Dick’s hands bore gun callouses.

“Bruce doesn’t have to like it,” Dick replied evenly. “It’s not his decision.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “What about you, then? A bit of hypocrisy here, methinks.”

“I don’t think it’s hypocrisy. I’d never use this as Nightwing. It’s different if I’m Officer Grayson.”

He couldn’t help it - he snorted. “What, people get less dead if it’s a _cop_ that shoots them?“

Dick rolled his eyes, which actually made him look like Damian for a second or two. “Give me a bit more credit than that,” he said. “The difference is that I’m accountable as a cop. I answer to more than just my own conscience.”

“I’m supposed to give you more credit with that argument? Please, Dickie. How often do cops get fired for killing people, let alone charged with murder like they should be?”

“Almost never,” Dick snapped. “I’m not naive. Stupid either. I know the system is broken, which is why I’m not giving up Nightwing, and I’m not taking this job to get around my promise not to kill. I want everything to work, Jason, and there’s more than one way to try and fix things. Get off your damn high horse. Honestly, you and Bruce -”

He stopped, a second before Jason’s own fuse blew, and ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that was 100% Dick in spite of his current predicament. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve already had something like this argument, if you can’t tell. I know this sucks and I know you’re doing me a big favour. Thank you, Jason.”

Jason took the gun from Dick. Standard police sidearm. Well maintained. Not loaded. “Got a locker for this? Ammo?”

“My room. Code’s on the paper with all the other password stuff you’ll need. Can’t have you not being able to log in to the computers at work.”

He stifled a groan. “You’re going to make me memorise everything before your shift starts tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Dick smiled. If it didn’t look as authentic as it might have on his own face, Jason wasn’t going to mention it. He just wanted this over and done with, as little fuss as possible.

It took hours. Dick wasn’t satisfied until late afternoon. By then Jason knew the layout of the Bludhaven precinct Officer Grayson was assigned to, just about every person who worked there, and the _unique_ perspectives on police regulations many BPD officers held. It had been all Jason could do to just grit his teeth and take it. It was Dick’s job, not his, and if Dick wanted to waste his time bailing out a burning ship, that wasn’t any of Jason’s business. Except for this week, anyway.

“So what are you going to be doing tomorrow?” He asked. “Going to school for Damian?”

Dick shook his head. “Bruce is calling Damian in sick for the next few days. He’s got a few tests and things that I’ll have to go and do for him in the middle of the week, but otherwise I can stay out of his life pretty well. _And_ it means you can call me if you need me.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s cheating if someone else does the test,” Jason said. “Tsk, tsk.”

“Damian knows it anyway.” Then he sat bolt upright and swore. “I just realised. I can’t drive back to Gotham like this.”

Jason stared. Then he laughed. He laughed until he could feel the ache in his sides. “I drove us all the way here, and you _forgot_?”

“Shut up,” Dick grumbled. “I guess I’ll get a train back. You’re going to need the sleep if you’re going to make my shift tomorrow, and I don’t want to ask Alfred or Bruce for a lift.”

“Sparing yourself the lecture on acting your age?” Jason asked. His face still hurt from smiling.

“Shut up,” Dick said again, no heat in it. He stood up and looked around. “I don’t think I’m going to need much from here for the next few days. That’ll be that, then. Thanks again, Jason.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason said. Dick took a note from his wallet (all his ID and even his phone had to be left with Jason, of course), and then let himself out to take the train all the way back to Gotham in an eleven-year-old body, and left Jason by himself in Dick’s own life.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be so entertaining as Jason had first assumed. It still beat _greater suspectibility to mind-magic_ and migraines. Probably.

He was going to have to find out the hard way, wasn't he?

 

—

 

Damian couldn’t decide which word fit the situation better - _infuriating_ or _intolerable_. He was leaning towards intolerable. It was all Todd’s fault, he decided. It was Todd who stopped Zatara from reversing this infernal (another good word) spell. And he couldn’t do anything about it now, because Grayson had gone and dragged him off to Bludhaven!

“You may as well stop sulking, Master Damian. There’s nothing to be done about it right now,” Pennyworth said, setting a plate of food in front of him. Vegetarian, thankfully. At least Damian still had that, even if the smell of the spicy beans was making him feel a bit queasy. “In the meantime, I do expect that you will maintain Master Timothy’s body much as he himself would.”

That just made Damian think of the box of pills Drake handed him the night before.

He hadn’t taken the medicine. Why should he? If Drake’s mind was…impaired…he should discipline his thoughts better. Damian had always said that Drake was weak. This was just proof of it.

Drake’s body was defective, too. How could he function when he couldn’t seem to sleep? He could feel the tiredness pressing at his brain, yet he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t even need to lie down to know it. His brain felt jammed in the on position.

Pennyworth slid a mug of black coffee in front of him.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Damian said.

“Master Timothy does,” Alfred said, “and I very much fear that you will have to cope with his caffeine addiction for the week. Drinking is up to you, of course, but you will have to suffer the subsequent headache. On top of that, it would be most unkind of you to inflict the effects of caffeine withdrawal upon Master Timothy without his consent.”

Damian scowled at the black, steaming surface. He could dimly see his ( _Drake’s_ ) reflection in it. He _had_ promised Grayson that he would treat Drake’s body as Drake himself would treat it. He drank. It tasted every bit as awful as he’d expected. How could anyone drink this stuff, much less enjoy it? Disgusting. His stomach roiled. “There,” he said.

“Very good of you, Master Damian,” Pennyworth said.

He still drew the line at the medication. He didn’t even know if it was what Drake said it was. He should test it, just to make sure. Drake hated him; Damian didn’t know what he might do. He certainly didn’t trust that Drake wouldn’t take advantage of the situation somehow. He could hardly have more advantage of familiarity than this. Worse, if he couldn’t tell Grayson any of this, by his own promise, he had no ally to help him.

Now was his chance to check on the medicine, too. Grayson and Todd were out. Drake was somewhere else, Damian didn’t care where, he didn’t want to see him. His father was the only possible complication, but even he couldn’t stay in the cave all day.

Damian headed downstairs, feeling ungainly in the borrowed body. Drake’s arms and legs were too long, Damian decided. Every second he felt he was about to pitch over. If Drake was in such ill health anyway, Zatara might as well have broken the spell, and Damian could be sick in his own body instead. Surely everyone would be happier that way.

There was nobody in the cave. Just as he’d hoped. Damian took out the box of pills and started running the chemical analysis.

To his surprise, it turned out that the medication was exactly what Drake claimed it was - a pill commonly prescribed to treat anxiety. Damian could take it safely.

If only he didn’t feel as if he was going to throw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone so much for your comments on the last chapter and the support in general! I hope you like this chapter too!


	3. Proper Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crash courses end, and a new day begins.

It had been a long time since Dick _had_ to take the train anywhere. It pretty much sucked, and not just because the train trip took twice as long as the drive. It had been a long time since he went outside without his wallet and phone, too.

Not to mention he currently looked a bit young to be taking this particular train by himself, especially at this time of day. He got more than one concerned look from more than one adult. He couldn’t exactly say “I can take care of myself,” much less “I’m a grown man,” and have anyone _believe_ him.

Worse, at the end of the line, he realised that he hadn’t taken enough money for a taxi back to Wayne Manor. Train tickets had got more expensive. That meant - no, he didn’t have his phone either. Damn. He’d have to pay when he arrived. Damn, damn, _damn_.

Not much choice left, he hailed a taxi anyway. “Where to, kid?” the driver asked.

Dick bristled at being called ‘kid’ for a second - Slade Wilson was the only person who called him ‘kid,’ and Dick only tolerated it because Slade was not to be tangled with over something so petty - but then remembered. Eleven. He looked like a kid. Technically, he was a kid right now, because he was in Damian’s body and Damian was most definitely a kid. “Wayne Manor,” he said, resigned. He showed what money he had. “I can pay.”

The driver raised an eyebrow, but pulled out anyway and started in the correct direction. That was just as well. Dick felt like he was hanging onto his composure by his teeth. Hang on he did, though, because if nobody was home to help him out with the fare, he could be in trouble, and a sympathetic vulnerable kid might get a bit more leniency for skipping taxi fare than an angry one.

When they arrived at Wayne Manor, well after dark, Dick said, “Wait there a second,” before going up to the gates. He hit the intercom. “Hey, Alfred, I’m back,” he said. “I need to pay the taxi driver.”

“Master - Damian,” Alfred’s voice replied promptly. That was a relief. Worst case scenario averted. “It’s good to see you back. Of course I shall pay the driver.”

When that all was done, complete with several expressions of disbelief from the taxi driver, Alfred hurried Dick inside. Dick hated looking up at him already. He’d spent enough of his life being the short one. And it really did make him feel like a little kid. “You were gone quite some time,” Alfred said.

“Forgot I couldn’t drive,” Dick said. “Didn’t realise I’d have to give Jason all my stuff. I had to take the train back.”

Alfred shook his head. “From Bludhaven? Oh dear. No wonder it took you so long. You could have called and asked for a lift.”

No, he couldn’t have. “Very long trip,” Dick said, grim. “Tim and Damian didn’t burn down the Manor while I was out?”

“As you can see, the damage has been minimal thus far.” Alfred’s mustache twitched, and he added, “Though I am glad you’ll be staying with us for the duration.”

Dick wasn’t. He loved Tim and Damian both, he loved Bruce and Alfred, but he had his own life to live. He had a job. An apartment. A city. He trusted Jason, with most things anyway, but he didn’t _like_ leaving this sort of thing to him. For lack of a better phrase, they had very different styles. “I’ll go down to the cave,” Dick said. “I’m assuming Damian’s hiding down there.”

“You assume correctly, Master Richard,” Alfred said.

And he’d probably hide down there all week if possible. Dick wasn’t so sure that was going to be possible. Tim was a very busy person. They might - would - have to work together to handle this. Perhaps it was his own bad mood speaking, perhaps it was a quirk of Damian’s brain chemistry, but Dick wasn’t overly optimistic. He went downstairs anyway, because if he didn’t keep Damian company through this, nobody else would. Like a bear with a sore paw. Poor Damian.

Poor Tim, too. This couldn’t be easy for either of them. Worse for them both than it was for him, he thought.

But when he got down to the cave, Damian was nowhere to be seen. Only Bruce was, not changed into his Batman gear yet, working on the computer. “Damian,” he greeted him.

“Dick,” Dick corrected him.

Bruce grunted, which meant _sorry_. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to look that far down at you,” he said.

“Rub it in, why don’t you.” He tried to keep his tone as cheerful as possible. The situation wasn’t Bruce’s fault. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault. “You still trying to track down the Penguin’s shipments?”

Bruce tapped his fingers on the countertop. “If he has - had - an artefact that could do this, his sources are better than I thought, and he must have contacts to sell these things to,” he said. “I’m going to investigate the warehouse tonight. Oracle’s helping out.”

He couldn’t help the feeling of sinking dread and embarrassment. “Oracle? You already told Oracle?” That question was answered when Bruce smirked a little. Dick groaned. “She practically fell out of her chair laughing, didn’t she?”

The small smirk enlarged minutely, Bruce’s own version of falling off his seat from laughter. “She said to tell you she looks forward to seeing you as Robin again.”

“I’ll do it if she takes up Batgirl again for a night.” That was a lie. He’d probably go out anyway. Damian’s body might not have the same capacities as Dick’s own, and Dick might not be able to harness all Damian’s muscle memory, but he could probably manage light patrolling without much difficulty. He _should_ keep up Damian’s training as best as he was able. It was what Damian would be doing were he still in his own body. “Maybe tomorrow.”

That made Bruce frown. “No need to push yourself,” he said. “If you don’t patrol this week, then you don’t patrol this week. Damian’s gone longer without patrolling while recovering from injuries.”

“I want to,” Dick said. “ _I_ haven’t gone longer without being injured. This body is not injured. As long as I don’t do anything too dangerous it should be fine.”

“I don’t like the idea of you endangering Damian,” Bruce said.

“I wouldn’t be doing anything more dangerous than Damian already does,” Dick argued. “I’ll check with him first before I go out on any patrols, of course, but I’ll tell you now that he’ll want me to keep his body field-ready.” And Dick himself might go mad if he had to stay in while the others patrolled.

Bruce opened his mouth to argue more, but Tim’s voice broke in, “He’s correct. I would prefer that Grayson patrol if possible.”

He was moving better, a bit more used to Tim’s size and proportions, but he really did look green around the gills. “Are you all right?” Dick asked.

“No,” Damian said. “Aside from the situation in general, Drake’s body is ill.”

“Tim was fine this morning,” Bruce said.

“I hardly got him sick deliberately,” Damian snapped. Yep, Dick was right. Damian was in full on wounded bear mode. It was adorable…when you were a safe distance away. And only then. “Accuse him of getting _me_ sick, if you will.”

“That’s not fair, Dami, Tim voted to break the spell too.” Not that Damian would listen to him right now. He still had to say it. He’d say it and say it until Damian could believe it. He did not have to be frightened of Tim. This wasn’t the League of Assassins; Tim might not like him very much, but he wasn’t out to get Damian beyond maybe a bit of mild humiliation. Nor was Tim ever going to convince Bruce or Dick himself to stop loving Damian, nor did the fact they both loved Tim mean they couldn't love Damian as well. “He doesn’t want this either.”

That just got him a sniff, but the change in head position made Damian wobble on his feet a bit. Dick’s heart went out to him. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you a bit more used to this.”

As he led Damian away, he could feel Bruce eyeing them both off worriedly. He didn’t know whether it was because of Damian, or because of him. Probably both.

 

—

 

It took the whole day to get the briefing sorted, but get it sorted Tim did. Everything he thought Damian might need to know to pretend to be Tim. And he’d arranged an earpiece, so Tim could feed him lines during the meeting. He’d typed it all, Jason’s larger hands feeling thick and clumsy over the keyboard setup he’d worked so hard to get just right for himself.

Now he had to talk to Damian again. Wonderful.

He went downstairs. Patrolling tonight wasn’t happening. He needed a bit more of a workout for that. He hoped Jason wouldn’t mind the Red Hood taking a day or two off. It wasn’t like he didn’t vanish mysteriously for weeks at a time only to reappear just as suddenly in the normal course of things. That said, he shouldn’t let Jason’s work just rot away for a week. That wouldn’t be fair.

Tim was still musing on it when he reached the practice mats in the cave, and looked up to see himself training with Damian. Not sparring, just going through individual workouts together.

More accurately, his body training with Damian’s body, i.e. Dick training with Damian.

It felt like a slap in the face, somehow. _See, Timothy? This is what you_ could _have had._ That sort of thing. Fortunately, Dick moved so that Tim could see the distinctly un-Damian-like smile he was wearing. That snapped him out of it. He didn’t dare look much more closely at Damian, because he already knew he’d hate what he’d see. And then he’d have to see plenty more of it.

“Tim!” Dick called. He didn’t even break out of his kata. Man it was unfair how Dick managed to be so at ease even after the bodyswap. But then again, he’d said that he’d been through this hellish experience before, with the Titans. Tim wondered whose body he’d ended up in that time. “Did you need something?”

“I need to talk to Damian,” Tim said.

Damian scowled at Tim with Tim’s own face. Like this was all Tim’s fault. Who was he kidding? Damian probably did blame him. That would be like Damian. “What for?” Damian asked.

“I have work tomorrow,” Tim said curtly. “There's a meeting that I can’t skip. You’re going to have to do it.”

He could already see Damian’s hackles rising. It was probably a good thing Dick was here. Instead of throwing a tantrum, he just glanced at Dick and said, “Very well. What do I need to know?”

“I’ve sent everything to your computer,” Tim said. “And you’ll have to wear an earpiece. I’ll coach you through it.”

Damian glared at him. “Very well,” he ground out.

“There’s a lot of information,” Tim continued. “You better get started soon.”

With another glance back at Dick, and a subtle motion of his jaw that looked an awful lot like Damian was biting his tongue, he nodded. Then he walked off. Funny, Tim had been expecting more of a fight.

Tim turned back to Dick, only to find his oldest brother looking up at him reproachfully, from what seemed like a very long way down. Usually, Tim looked up to Dick. Literally and metaphoricallly. Now, though, looking down at Damian’s smug little face, even knowing that it was _Dick_ , Tim just felt irrationally angry. “What is it?”

“You could ask him,” Dick said. “You don’t have to snap orders at him. He agreed to do what he had to, to pose as you.”

That was what Dick thought. Damian struck at any sign of weakness, and he thought asking nicely for something was a sign of weakness. Tim wasn’t about to give him that opening, especially not now. “It’s an important meeting,” Tim said. “It _needs_ doing.”

“All the same,” Dick said. “A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt. Or a ‘thank you’ either.”

It was Damian’s face telling him that. That was the thing Tim was struggling with. Even though he knew it was Dick, he couldn’t separate that out from Damian. Even though he knew Dick was probably right about the manners thing. His throat tightened up over the answer. He nodded. Or jerked his head. That was a closer description. 

But Dick just smiled at him, either oblivious to Tim’s ire or pretending that he was oblivious to Tim's ire. “Have you spoken to Jason?” he asked.

So they were done with the topic of Damian. That was a relief. “Briefly,” Tim said. “There’s not much he actually needs from me except patrolling. I’m not up to that yet.” Because instead of getting used to Jason’s body, he’d been collecting everything he could think of that Damian might need for tomorrow. He wished he’d asked more about Jason’s schedule, but he’d been a bit preoccupied. As it was, he was only going to have maybe half a day tomorrow to devote to his Jason-duties.

Why couldn’t this have happened at a more convenient time? Even next week would have been better. Magic. If there was some way it could screw you over, it did exactly that.

“Well, _I_ don’t have much to do at the moment,” Dick said. “Jason’s set to do my day job, I’m taking the week off the Titans, and Damian’s going to be quote unquote ‘sick’ until his math test on Wednesday. What do you say that we get ourselves patrol-ready right now?”

He’d heard worse ideas. The exercise would probably do him good. He could lose his worries in exertion for a bit. It helped him in his own body; he didn’t see why it shouldn’t help in Jason’s as well. “Sure.” Then he looked down and down and down at Dick. He seemed…very small. Breakable. “Uh.”

“No sparring,” Dick said. “Damian’s body has some lethal muscle memory to deal with, and I’d be surprised if Jason doesn’t have similar issues. We’ll start off gently, and we’ll both be patrol-ready in no time.”

The exercise did do him good, a little, even if every single thing felt off. “You’re overthinking it,” Dick said at one point. “You have to work _with_ Jason’s body. You don’t think about this sort of movement in your own body; you just do it. It’s no different. If you keep thinking of this as piloting Jason’s body you’re going to keep falling on your face.”

“I’m _trying,_ ” Tim ground out. In Jason’s voice it probably sounded scarier than it did frustrated. But what Dick was telling him to do was uncomfortably intimate. It _wasn’t_ his body. He _was_ just a temporary pilot. Treating this situation as anything but that seemed fundamentally wrong. Worse, this must have been the approach Dick was advising Damian to take in relation to Tim’s own body. “It seems wrong.”

“It’s just a matter of practicality,” Dick said. “You know Jason would prefer it if you could do a patrol or two for him. This is how you get the control you need for that. It’s not going to let you read his mind. You’re hardly likely to get confused about who owns his body, either.”

Easy to say, harder to believe. Tim didn’t like this situation. He didn’t like it at all. Why couldn’t Jason just deal with the migraines?

“What about the muscle memory?” Tim asked. “You said Damian’s was lethal.” And just about the last thing he wanted to do was kill someone.

“Step two,” Dick said. “Let’s get you up to running speed first.”

Tim sighed and tried again.

 

—

 

Some _godawful_ pop song started blaring right next to his ear, and Jason startled awake. He was just about to smash his fist down on the offensive noise when he realised that it wasn’t his phone making it. On second, bleary thought - it was just so like Dick it made his brain hurt. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep that was doing that.

He looked at the screen. It said _workout alarm!_ Jason groaned. “Can’t I do this later?” he asked aloud.

No answer, because he was alone in Dick’s apartment, in charge of Dick’s life for the time being. Joy oh joy. So instead, Jason flipped to Dick’s schedule. He hadn’t looked closely enough at what was going on there, too busy being constantly drilled by Dick on the names of his coworkers. As it turned out, Dick’s calendar was _packed_. He had to do his workout now, or he wouldn’t have time later in the day.

Groaning again, loudly and deeply - who was there to hear him complain? - Jason rolled out of bed and got to it. He wasn’t sure if his routine was Dick’s, and he hadn’t asked (since Dick had decided that what Jason _had_ to know was how the desk sergeant liked his coffee and the names and birthdays of his police partner’s kids) but it’d have to do. At the least, he was sure it wouldn’t outright hurt Dick. He could call for clarification later. Dick, that jackass, was probably enjoying a nice sleep in.

Worked out and coffee’d up, Jason put on Dick’s cute police uniform. It was so new it was still a bit stiff in the collar and cuffs. With everything on and buttoned up, he looked so clean-cut Jason almost wanted to gag. It was absurd. Jason had never looked clean-cut in his life, not when he was a kid, not even when he got all scrubbed up under Alfred’s directions. When he had to work a look, he went with the good old “bad boy” image. Didn’t go over so well with certain people, but it had its advantages, and a good protective “fuck off” aura.

As it was, with the blue of the uniform somehow making Dick’s eyes look all the bigger and bluer, he was going to have the worst of both worlds - little old ladies pinching his cheeks _and_ the regular Bludhaven scum thinking he was an easy target.

Oh god, he was going to have to act like an easy target.

He was just reconsidering this whole pose-as-Dick thing for the umpteenth time in under 24 hours when Dick’s phone started blaring its tinny, upbeat pop music again. _Go to work!_ the little notice on the screen urged him. Why was the exclamation mark there? Jason didn’t know. Maybe Dick was just that excited to be a cop. Maybe Dick was the most ridiculous person on the face of the planet - and that was up against some stiff competition.

The pop music got louder and more insistent, grating against his sleep-deprived brain, an auditory reminder of just who he’d promised he’d go through with this ridiculous charade. Admitting defeat, Jason picked up the stupid cop hat and headed out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! Special thanks for commenting, bookmarking, or kudos-ing!


	4. Meeting and Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian runs the meeting. Jason plays at being Officer Grayson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your warnings for this chapter: discussion of police violence, and people continuing to treat mental health conditions poorly.

It had taken a while, but Damian finally had something positive to say about Drake: his taste in suits was acceptable. His ties and cuff links were similarly adequate. Damian would be able to attend this meeting without feeling an utter fool.

He still felt atrocious. Flu, Damian thought, or something like it. Sleeping had been all but impossible. Personally, Damian blamed the caffeine addiction. If Drake didn’t consume ridiculous quantities of stimulant, he and by extension Damian might be able to get some _actual_ rest. The only upside was that it had given him the time to go through Drake’s notes. He was as prepared as someone could be for this, and better than most.

The first thing out of Drake’s mouth when Damian entered the room was, “Well, you don’t look like you’ll embarrass me.”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself,” Damian said. Whatever happened, Damian was the one who’d have to remember it. Throwing up on Drake’s shoes mid-meeting he could handle. Fumbling a fact he was expected to know was all but intolerable.

Drake didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. He simply stood there, staring at Damian with Todd’s gormless expression. The one Todd himself thought was impassive. Damian certainly didn’t have anything else to say to Drake. It was a relief when Pennyworth entered with coffee for both of them. “Good morning, Master Timothy, Master Damian,” he said.

This time, Damian drank the coffee without complaint. It still tasted absolutely disgusting and did nothing for the unsettled feeling in his stomach, hot and roiling.

Pennyworth looked at him with concern. “Have you eaten, Master Damian?” he asked.

Damian shook his head and regretted it. Now it felt like his brain was jarring against the insides of his skull. Without another word, Pennyworth set down a plate of dry toast. Such a paltry meal would hardly replenish him under normal circumstances. While he hadn’t been out on patrol and was as such not quite so famished as he might normally be, he knew that he should eat. Drake watched his every bite with a cold stare.

“I’ll be in the cave,” he said, once Damian had finished. “I have feeds of the conference rooms, so I’ll be able to see you as well as hear what’s going on.”

Drake made it sound like a threat. It probably was. “I promised to attend,” Damian said, with a guilty flash of memory over the pills he hadn’t taken. It wasn’t as if Drake actually needed them, he told himself. “I will not go back on that agreement.” It was a different situation.

But Drake just arched an eyebrow at him, an expression not very like Todd’s. It was surprisingly easy to remember it was Drake behind those eyes. Todd would at least have the decency to say outright that he’d believe it when he saw it.

There was one bright spot to this entire affair, however: he could drive himself to Wayne Enterprises. Normally, Father insisted that Damian maintain the appearance that he was not responsible or skilled enough to drive. In Drake’s body, he was subject to no such restriction. Even if he couldn’t drive as fast as he wished thanks to poor sleep sapping his reaction times, it was still infinitely preferable to having Pennyworth or a chauffeur drive him. He arrived at Wayne Enterprises with half an hour to spare.

What would Drake do with an extra half hour before his meeting? Drink coffee and go over his notes, most probably. Urgh. Damian was heartily sick of coffee, but if that was what Drake would do… “What coffee do you usually order?” he asked aloud, knowing that Drake would be listening.

“At work? Skim latte, double shot, no sugar.”

That sounded disgusting too, to the point where Damian nearly threw up on the spot, but he went downstairs and ordered one. If nothing else, at least he’d made it _look_ as though Drake was behaving normally. Then, collecting his files, he headed towards the conference room where the meeting was set to be held.

“You’ve got the agenda, right?” Drake asked.

Damian looked around, checking that there was nobody to hear. “I can’t answer you all the time,” he hissed. “Yes, I have the agenda. As you said.” He hated working with Drake. Even his father trusted his competence more. This was all giving him a headache, on top of the aches, chills and nausea from the damned influenza Drake’s body was currently suffering.

Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of the first attendee. “Linda Maitland,” Drake said. Which Damian knew, because he’d read Drake’s briefing notes. But now he couldn’t tell Drake, for what felt like the tenth time, that he was perfectly capable of doing this job.

Instead, he smiled, as Drake’s notes indicated that he was professionally friendly with everyone involved. “Linda,” he said. First-name terms. Damian didn’t like it. Far too personal.

“Tim,” Maitland replied, with a worried expression. “You’re looking a bit peaky, if you don’t mind me saying. Have you been staying up looking over the balance sheets again?”

“Um, yes?” Damian replied. It was not technically a lie.

Maitland shook her head. “I keep telling you, you’re not exempt from our policies about the working week. You need to take the same breaks we do, boss.”

Damian bristled. As if this individual knew Damian’s - or Drake’s - _real_ schedule. She’d be horrified. How dare she lecture him? She had no right. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Damian said. It sounded more like what Drake would say.

“Ask her about her kids,” Drake said. “Madison and Isabelle.”

He did. He let Drake walk him through an entire conversation about Madison and Isabelle Maitland and the vacation they were recently back from. By the time they were done, another two people had arrived and Drake instructed him to start talking about the most recent communications project Wayne Enterprises was running. At least Damian didn’t need to be babied through the technical details. He’d been using this particular technology since he became Robin. It was _outdated_ , by their standards.

By the time the meeting was officially ready to begin, Damian was glad that at least Drake was no Grayson, instantly best friends with anyone and everyone he met. If he had to make any more small talk, he probably _would_ throw up. Which would get him out of the meeting, he supposed. It was a tactic to be considered for later in the week.

He steeled himself, called the meeting to order, and started moving through the agenda. Drake’s real-time assistance was hardly necessary - he filled in some of the finer details about a particular work team’s budget allocation and a particular engineer’s attendance at addiction recovery, both minor matters Drake could and would be excused for forgetting. Aside from Drake’s damnable illness, the meeting was going well.

Then a sharp, painful sensation like an electric shock buzzed through his brain. For a second, Damian couldn’t even think, let alone speak. He barely registered that someone was speaking _to_ him.

“Mr Drake? Mr Drake, are you all right?”

Damian shook himself. “Fine,” he said. “Go on.”

In his ear, Drake hissed, “What was _that_? Never mind, we’ll talk about it later. Pay attention, they’re talking projections.”

Talk about it later? Damian would most certainly be discussing the malfunctioning earpiece with Drake later. For the moment, he put it aside.

 

—

 

Jason was dead, again, and this time he’d wound up in hell. He was sure of it. It was the only plausible explanation for why he was standing in the middle of the road, trying to defuse a spat about whose fault this minor traffic accident was. As far as Jason himself could see, and he was no insurance expert, they were _both_ lucky the worst damage was to the paint jobs.

Instead, they were screaming obscenties at each other and the poor bastard trying to keep them from tearing out each other’s throats. Which happened to be him. There was nothing Jason wanted so much right now as to threaten some nice, simple police brutality and be shot of all of them - literally or metaphorically, he no longer cared. All that was stopping him was the knowledge that this was not how Dickhead would handle this, and Jason had promised to try and act like Dick while in his body in public.

He tried to smile. It felt incredibly fake. “What are you laughing at, pig?” one of the women snarled, and things went downhill from there.

One loogie to the face and one arrest later, Jason retreated to the patrol car, just about done with today and Dick’s life in general. His partner was pissing herself laughing. And here Jason had thought Rohrbach wasn’t so bad for a cop. “Losing your touch already, rookie?” she snickered.

“Can’t lose what you never had,” Jason groused.

“That’s not what you said last week,” Rohrbach said. “Bludhaven ladies too much for you?”

Shit, shit, shit. What would Dick say? How would he play this fuck-up? Nightwing would have a cocky smirk and a comeback, but Dick Grayson? Self-deprecation and an _aww shucks how embarrassing_ shuffle? Goddammit, he didn’t know how to be charming. As if the part where some woman had spat at him wasn’t proof enough. He made his choice, smiled, and said, “Depends.”

Rohrbach raised her eyebrows at him, which wasn’t the worst possible outcome. “If you try being charming on me again, Grayson, I’ll personally make sure you get every bachelorette party-gone-wrong call for the next year.”

Jason was tempted. He was really, really tempted. But he’d promised. “Anything but that,” he said. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Rohrbach said with a smile. “Now let’s get this arrest sorted. I’ll let you have the privilege of the paperwork.”

And what an incredible privilege it was, too. Fortunately, he’d seen so many arrest reports he could fill them out in his sleep. Even though he’d never filled one out before. And Dick wanted to do this for his day job?

More distracting was the blatant corruption going on in front of him. The Bludhaven PD weren’t even trying to hide their bullshit. Just walking his own arrestee into the holding cell took him past two falsified reports (one to hide the fact the arresting officer had kicked the crap out of the guy he’d already handcuffed) and a minor case of bribery. Say what you like about Gordon, at least he’d driven this sort of thing underground. Gotham’s cops were a bit better than a rival gang these days. Not so much here. Dick could say he wasn’t naive all he liked, but he better have a plan for not getting eaten alive. Jason didn’t trust cops. Especially not cops like these. And everyone knew Dick was a soft touch. Probably _too_ soft.

“What are you looking at?” one fine officer snarled, catching Jason looking.

Jason tried smiling inoffensively, which got him cursed at again. Damn it, it would have worked for Dick. Totally unfair. Besides which, he hoped that he wasn’t ruining all Dick’s working relationships. Or potential working relationships. Or getting him set up for an educational beating from officers not real concerned about ethics. These were all, regrettably, possibilities. He made himself scarce at that point.

The end of the shift crawled around after a few more hours. Jason felt wrung out from being constantly _nice_. There was an hour gap in Dick’s schedule for him to take a breath between work and other different work, and Jason was very much looking forward to it.

“Grayson! Hey, Grayson!”

But of course, because Dick knew everyone and everyone knew Dick, he couldn’t make a clean escape. Which was the first time Jason could ever say that about his running from the cops. Dick would pay for screwing up his cop evasion records. He turned to find a pair of officers - Evans and Kwaitkowski - that Dick had said weren’t the worst Bludhaven had to offer. Well, he’d used different words, but Jason could translate from Goldie’s sunshine-happyland-speak to ‘they only put the boot in when a smarter and meaner officer started it first.’

“We’re going for drinks,” Evans said. “Coming?”

Goddamn it. He knew what Dickhead would say, and he’d promised. Here he’d been looking forward to an hour of not smiling. “Sure,” he said.

 

—

 

The meeting was going almost _too_ smoothly. Tim was getting suspicious. This sort of thing didn’t happen to him. Damian was actually keeping to his end of the bargain so far, which definitely didn’t happen that often with the two of them. Tim listened closely, trying to work out when and where his intervention was necessary - on top of actually learning what he needed to from the meeting for future reference.

This was such a pain. He hoped he never had to do another meeting like this.

Without warning, Damian stopped speaking. He’d been mid-sentence, and he just stopped. Tim could hear the others asking him if he was all right. Then, just as quickly, Damian seemed to shake it off.

“What was _that_?” Tim asked. Then, realising the meeting was still going on, he said, “Never mind, we’ll talk about it later. Pay attention, they’re talking projections.”

Damian had said that he was sick. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal. Tim tried to put it out of his mind. But try as he might, he couldn’t do it. Not entirely. Especially when it happened again. And again, Damian shook off the concern of Tim’s team. There was something actually wrong, there. Tim hadn’t felt any more awful than usual before this whole catastrophe started, and said awfulness was mostly related to his mental illness. How come Damian was sick all of a sudden?

He brooded on that for a while, letting the question bubble away in his brain as he coached Damian through the rest of the meeting. When it was at last done and everyone else departed, Tim said, “That could have gone worse.”

“Or so you say,” Damian sniped. “You couldn’t even get me an earbud that functions properly.”

“What are you talking about?” Tim snapped. Jason’s voice was good for that. He sounded grumpy at the best of times. “Your earbud works fine. I checked it myself.”

“Really? Then explain why it kept shocking me, then.”

“It shouldn’t have,” Tim said, immediately. It _couldn’t_ have. That would mean there was an exposed wire in there, and neither he nor Bruce ever let anything out of the lab in that sort of condition. They checked their work very carefully for that sort of thing, since the consequences could be disastrous. Tim in particular checked his work again and again and again until he _knew_ it was as close to perfect as he could manage.

“Yet it did.”

Damian’s tone was flat and final. He truly believed that the earpiece was malfunctioning and zapping him.

Zapping.

The word twinged something in Tim’s memories. His medication. His doctor had warned him not to go off it suddenly, or even to change his schedule dramatically, or -

\- or, amongst a range of other unfortunate side effects, many of which were a bit like the flu, he could suffer ‘brain zaps’ that felt a lot like electric shocks. Tim took his medication. He’d had some side effects going on the meds, but since those faded, nothing. Nothing until now. And now, Damian said Tim’s body was sick.

“You didn’t take my anxiety medications,” Tim said. The words came out far more calmly than he felt. In Jason’s body, at least, he didn’t feel like he was about to spiral into a full blown panic attack.

Damian’s silence was the only answer he needed.

“I told you,” Tim said. “I trusted you. You _promised_. How hard was it to keep that promise, hmm? I put the medicine in your hand, all you had to do was _take_ _it_.”

“Why should I trust _you_?” Damian snarled back. Behind the aggression, Tim could hear something wavery and uncertain. Anxious. He didn’t care. He couldn't bring himself to.

“If you didn’t trust me, you’d’ve tested the medication and found out that it’s just what I said it was,” Tim snapped back. Now he could see Damian’s vitals spiking on the monitors. A panic attack of his very own. Tim recognised the signs. “It’s _my_ health and _my_ body. I’m going to be dealing with this for _weeks_ once we swap back. I hope you’re happy now. You do know this is why nobody tells you anything if they can possibly help it.”

He could hear Damian’s breath rasping over the comms. He was making little choking noises as he struggled and failed to marshal a response. Not that there _was_ a response he could make. All he had to do was take the medicine and now he was paying for it. It served the little brat right. If only Tim wouldn’t be paying for it too.

Anger felt good in Jason’s body. This would have left Tim shaking in his own, but Jason just got a high. “I’m locking the office down,” he said. “That’s what I’d do. Sit there for a while and maybe think about someone other than yourself for five minutes.”

Three buttons and Damian was out of contact in a dark office, all Tim’s anti-anxiety controls in place. Tim, on the other hand, was absolutely furious. He was just leaving when he ran into Dick, who of course was wearing Damian’s face. That only made him angrier.

“Tim?” Dick asked. “What’s the matter? I thought I heard the vitals alarms going off.”

“What’s the _matter_?” Tim snorted. “Ask _Damian_.” When he stopped crying in the dark like Tim had to from time to time, because he had a damned mental illness that needed proper management and medication.

Dick was looking at him strangely. “Tim?” he asked again. “Are you all right? You seem a little -”

“Fine,” Tim said, and went to go find a punching bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I did not mean to leave you hanging for almost two months. My apologies. Thanks for sticking with this fic, and for any comments/bookmarks/kudos!


	5. Stress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual warnings - people aren't handling their various psych issues well in this story. On top of that, note that the narrators aren't reliable.

Dick hurried to find Alfred. The vitals alerts were still going off, and when Dick tried to call Damian, cell and Tim’s office landline, there was no response. Tim was nowhere to be seen. He had no intention of helping Damian, and Dick doubted that he could or should make him. No. It had to be Alfred.

He hated even having to ask. He couldn’t just get on his bike and _go_ to Damian. No, he had to get someone else to help him, and waste their time doing something Dick was capable of doing himself. Dick was an _adult_. It was infuriating.

“Master Dick? What’s the matter?”

“Something’s wrong with Damian,” Dick said. “He’s not answering his phone. I need to get to Wayne Enterprises, now.”

“And you need me to drive you.”

“Or book a taxi,” Dick said. “I don’t have my wallet.” Or Damian’s. Damian, who wasn’t answering. They had to go right now.

Alfred looked at him with sympathy. If Dick wasn’t so frantic right now, he’d’ve been seriously offended. “I think I had best take you,” Alfred said. “Master Damian would not visit Master Timothy at work. Or, if he did, there would be some sort of fight immediately afterwards.”

He was right, Dick told himself. Alfred was absolutely right about that. He meant nothing by it. No reflection on how capable he thought Dick was. No insinuation that he _should_ sit this out. Just the completely true observation that Tim and Damian didn’t get along and everyone knew it, and so if they were keeping up the charade that Dick _was_ Damian, he shouldn’t go to WE to pick up ‘Tim.’

It still made him angry.

They made decent time to the Wayne Enterprises building, Dick feeling way too small in his skin, strapped into the passenger seat. Everything was just - bigger. Big like it hadn’t been since he was actually a child. Amazing what a foot’s worth of height changed. The trip still felt like an eternity, and when they at last pulled into the parking lot, Alfre turned to him and said, “I think I had better retrieve Master Damian, for much the same reasons. Are you willing to wait here, Master Dick?”

There were good reasons, he thought, as he nodded his assent. Dick had promised not to do anything in Damian’s body that Damian wouldn’t do, and Damian wouldn’t check on Tim. It wasn’t denying Damian his care or concern, because he was still here, he just had to wait.

And wait.

For other people to do things.

Surely Alfred had reached Tim’s office by now.

It felt like hours, but eventually Alfred’s phone (he’d left it, since Dick had neither his own with him, nor Damian’s) rang. Dick seized it before the first tone finished. “Alfred? What’s going on up there?”

“Master Damian is unwell,” Alfred said, voice just slightly tense. “I will escort him down shortly.”

That was it. Alfred hung up. Dick was back to more impotent, anxious waiting. Minutes dragged by, until finally, _finally_ , Alfred reappeared with Damian. Dick’s heart clenched as he realised his youngest brother had been crying - Tim could never hide it, he went red as a tomato when he cried. Not caring whether they were unseen, Dick climbed out of the car and rushed to Damian’s side.

Prickly as ever, Damian tried to shrug him off. It was…distressingly simple for him when Dick was like this. But Dick wasn’t the sort to give up. A look at Damian’s face was enough to tell that he wasn’t refusing the hug because he genuinely didn’t want any contact, but because he didn’t think he deserved it. Dick gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and backed off. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Damian lied.

It was far below his usual quality of lie. This got worse and worse. Dick tried to muster as much authority as he could, and said sternly, “Damian.”

“I’m fine!”

“Damian. We knew to come here because your vitals alarms went off. It clearly isn’t nothing.” When Damian didn’t respond to that, not even with indignation at being treated like a child, Dick asked, “Did you fight with Tim?”

Nothing. Dick was on the right track. Not that it was hard to tell, given how angry Tim had been. Something Damian had done or said, Dick thought, given his silence right now. The guilt practically poured off him.

“If I may interject,” Alfred said, “Might I suggest that this is not the best venue for such a discussion?”

“Good idea, Alfred,” Dick said. “Let’s go, Damian. We’ll go home and make you some tea. That sound okay?”

Still nothing. Damian’s silence was eerie. He stayed silent as they bundled him into the car, and stayed silent the whole way back. Alfred said nothing, leaving Dick to fill the gap. Damian wasn’t physically injured, but mentally - his own experience with bodyswap had been rough, back with the Titans, and Bruce had once confessed that he’d found the few hours he’d had the same experience to be one of the more psychologically trying of his Justice League career. No way around it, it was hard, and the cure was usually worse than the disease. A psychological problem was well within the realm of possibilities.

Dick kept talking, light questions meant to stop Damian thinking on the fact of his situation. To keep him focused on the world outside his head rather than his own thoughts. Scarecrow tactics, essentially. Damian didn’t respond to any of it, but at least there was a little more life in his eyes.

When they got back to the Manor, Dick whisked Damian upstairs - hard to do when he was this much smaller - and up to his room, while Alfred prepared the tea. There was no sign of Tim, not surprising, and no messages from Jason either. Dick hoped they were doing all right.

For the moment, he had to focus on Damian. This conversation wasn’t going to be an easy one.

 

—

 

So Drake really was sick.

Damian felt atrocious. His chest hurt from the way his heart had pounded and from forcing himself to breathe more steadily. He’d had to _force_ himself to breathe steadily. His head didn’t feel much better, aching fiercely and his concentration still fragmented. And he _still_ felt like he had a cold or something similar. It was disgusting.

The guilt wasn’t helping. Or maybe it was nausea. Any minute now Grayson was going to be back, and he was going to be _caring_. Damian was going to have to explain himself. Without further breaking the agreement he’d made to honour Drake’s privacy and his wishes.

There was a knock at the door. “Damian?”

Grayson. Just as expected. Damian wanted to hide. He felt so _fragile_. It was pathetic. He had been through much worse than what he had experienced in that office. Physically _and_ mentally. It had never affected him like this before.

But Grayson was still knocking. Damian knew him well. He would not give up, not until he had answers. So Damian steeled himself and said, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Damian saw his own face peeking through the small gap. “I brought tea,” Grayson said. “Come on, sit up, you look like you need a hot drink.”

It was actually his favourite tea, not the disgustingly bitter coffee Drake favoured. Hesitantly, Damian sat up and accepted the mug. His hands were shaking, just slightly, but enough that Grayson couldn’t fail to notice. At least he didn’t comment on it. Instead, Grayson sat next to him, forcing Damian to think on the sheer wrongness of the experience. Grayson was supposed to be larger than him. Indeed, this sort of close proximity was usually all but intolerable given how hot Grayson ran. This was - different. Less comforting. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Grayson only waited so long before he said, “Will you tell me what happened?”

Damian shook his head.

“You won’t? Or you can’t?”

Both. Shame choked him. If he did not tell Grayson, admit his - his mistake, Drake would. If he did tell Grayson, he would have broken his promise twice over. Damian was no coward. He had to accept the consequences of his first error, no matter what Drake might say about it behind Damian’s back. “I can’t,” Damian said. “I promised.”

“It’s something to do with Tim’s health?” Grayson asked. They both knew he didn’t need to hear Damian answer to know what he’d say. Grayson, to Damian’s irritation, had generally been able to read him quite well. “Okay. I won’t ask about it, then. Do you need my help to handle any symptoms? Would you like me to stay for a while?”

He just felt so weak. Yet at the same time he didn’t know if he could stand being around Grayson when Grayson was in _his_ body. It wasn’t fair. He hated this. “Are you going to talk to Drake?” he asked.

“Not about you,” Grayson said.

“But you _are_ going to talk about this.”

“You’re worried about what Tim’s going to say.” Grayson pressed against him, again trying to be comforting and again failing through no fault of his own. “Well, you know how I think you should deal with that.”

Damian had only heard it a hundred times. If he’d wronged Drake, he should apologise. If Drake chose not to accept the apology, that was his prerogative; he was not obliged to forgive Damian. Whatever Drake did or did not do regarding any apologies, Damian should also try and repair any damage he’d caused. It was excruciating and difficult and Drake had no interest in his apologies whatsoever. Damian sometimes wondered how often even Grayson managed to hold to that standard.

He could at least start taking the medicine as Drake directed. He worked his throat, took a sip of tea, and at last managed to say, “I know what I should do.”

“Good. Would you like to get started, or would you like to recover for a bit longer?”

“Recover, I think,” he said. The anxiety had left him wrung out and exhausted, on top of everything else. There was no possible way that he would be able to apologise to Drake while feeling at his best, ready to respond to violence or threats, and he knew from experience that for all the prospect of apologising was more daunting if he waited, Drake’s immediate anger would cool. He didn’t know whether that was better or worse, objectively speaking, but it was easier for him to handle.

“Do you want another cup of tea?”

Damian shook his head. He didn’t deserve that sort of attention. He didn’t need it, either. This was _temporary_.

Grayson climbed up to give Damian a hug. It felt wrong. “I’ll get you some water,” he said.

With that, he left Damian alone again. Just like he’d been in Drake’s office, the security measures closing down around him, remotely activated by someone who hated him. It was his mind playing tricks on him, plus Drake’s brain sabotaging him (and, he had to acknowledge, sabotaging Drake himself, too), but not much easier to bear. He dragged himself off his bed to open the curtains, at least, and the effort felt so gargantuan that he flopped right back over again.

How did Drake _deal_ with this on a regular basis? Absolutely intolerable.

Grayson came back with the promised water and a reminder to call Alfred if he needed anything else in the next hour or two, so considerate and attentive it hurt. Another thing he wondered about Grayson sometimes. Growing up, his mother had never told him how cruel mercy could be sometimes.

Apologies were the worst of all. Drake had never forgiven him even once, not for anything, and yet Damian was supposed to bare his own vulnerabilities in penitence and accept Drake’s retribution. As Pennyworth had explained once, though, it was not about Damian’s apology being accepted, but about Damian accepting that what he did was wrong. He knew he’d done the wrong thing.

He got up from his bed again and went to his computer, brain sluggish, stomach rebelling, but determined all the same. If he’d caused this problem in his ignorance, he could fix his ignorance.

 

—

 

It took a surprisingly long time to calm down. Not only did anger feel good in Jason’s body, anger also stayed around for a while. With the thoughts spinning around and around in his head, Tim had little doubt that had he been in his own body, he would have had a panic attack anyway. Instead…

He’d prefer the anger. Some silver lining this was turning out to be. A few more days of this, and then he went back to his own body and riding out the effects of Damian skipping his medication.

Thinking it made him angry all over again, but less angry this time. It came and it went. He did a bit of case research to manage it, the familiar, diverting activity occupying his mind with something other than rage.

Tim had just mastered the most recent wave when he heard light footsteps behind him. He tensed, not recognising the sound -

“It’s just me,” Damian’s voice - Dick - said. Right. Dick’s manner of movement, with Damian’s shorter legs and lesser weight. Both factors together produced a gait that wasn’t quite like either of them. Tim wondered if the rest of them would end up moving in that halfway sort of fashion. “Do you have time to talk?”

Anger, again. “What have I done wrong this time?” he asked. “And what does it have to do with Damian?”

He knew how Dick worked. He knew who Dick cared about more, too. Easier to dispense with the bullshit.

“You left him alone in your office while he was suffering a panic attack,” Dick said. It was worse hearing it in Damian’s voice. “Were you planning to tell anyone if I hadn’t come downstairs to check?”

“No,” Tim said. “It’s not fatal. If he’s so mentally superior, he can use his willpower to get over it.” And Damian deserved it, anyway. If he’d just _taken the damn pills_ it wouldn’t have been a problem. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Damian told you.”

“Damian told me nothing except that his promise not to break your privacy prevented him from telling me anything,” Dick said, voice trying for sympathetic and stumbling over the fact that he sounded like _Damian_. “I know I’m not the detective you or Bruce are, but I’m not stupid, either. I know what a panic attack looks like. Anxiety disorder, Tim? Am I right?”

This was exactly what he was afraid of. The sympathy was only the start. Next it’d be edging him out of missions and responsibilities. Treating him like a joke. Tim had quite enough of that from Dick and Jason already, thanks. He could handle this by himself. “If I’d wanted you to know I would have told you,” he said.

Gently, like he was speaking to some sort of invalid, Dick said, “There are safety issues.”

“Bruce and Alfred know,” Tim said. “I’m managing this fine by myself.”

Dick nodded, and got something closer to the stern face on. Since he currently had Damian’s face, he couldn’t manage it. “All right. Back to the original topic, then. Deliberately leaving Damian in a blacked-out office while you knew he was having a panic attack.”

This time, he couldn’t stop it. Tim shot to his feet. “Did he tell you why?” he demanded. “Or did he chicken out?”

“I told you that he told me nothing,” Dick said.

Tim snorted. From Jason’s height, he couldn’t help but notice, he towered over Dick. It made more difference than he’d thought. Looking down at Dick, instead of up - it was harder to take Dick seriously when he was looking this far up, with a little kid’s face at that. And that was fine with Tim right now. “Coward. I did what I was supposed to. I gave him the medication. I told him what it was for and when to take it. He’s the one who broke our agreement. Not me.”

“We’re not talking about Damian at the moment,” Dick said, and oh, Tim could see some frustration there. That perfect calm mask wasn’t quite bulletproof. That was good. Dick had voted not to change back, either, and it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t struggling when all the rest of them were.

“Well, _I’m_ talking about Damian,” Tim shot back. “He deserved it. It’s going to take me weeks to recover from what he did. Weeks.”

“That _still_ doesn’t make it okay to do what you did! Damian might act grown-up, but he isn’t, he’s a child. Do you really think Talia and Ra’s ever told him about this sort of thing? He didn’t do it to spite you - he didn’t understand.”

“It’s called Google,” Tim said. “I know he knows how to use it -“

“And you didn’t just leave him, you _made it worse_ for him!” Dick glared up at him from Damian’s stubborn, hateful face. “I know that _you_ know better. That was cruel, Tim. I’m disappointed in you.”

“He deserved it,” Tim snarled. “You’re not my father. You’re not in charge of me. You can be disappointed all you like.” So could Tim himself, for that matter. He didn’t know why he ever expected anything else. Dick sided with Damian, and that was that.

To his surprise, Dick didn’t shout back. He gave him a hard look instead. “Fine,” Dick said. “Maybe you’ll change your mind when you calm down.”

When he calmed down?

Dick was already heading back up to the house, so Tim couldn’t call for clarification (even if his pride would allow it - he was _right_ about this). He was calm, wasn’t he? Or no angrier than he would normally get over a fuck-up of Damian’s this huge and affecting him so severely. He called up the footage of their confrontation, muting it so that he didn’t get caught up in the argument a second time.

Just looking at it was difficult. Even so, from the more objective perspective of the camera, Tim could see the expression on his/Jason’s face, and it was hard to miss how aggressive his body language was.

If he was in his own body, he would be fighting down a panic attack, not fighting off anger. Tim’s thoughts, Tim’s stress, producing the physical reaction that Jason would have if he were stressed.

Jason had said he didn’t have any issues left over from the Pit. Tim thought he might need to double-check that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for sticking with this fic, and for your comments/kudos/bookmarks!


	6. Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for references to sexual harassment.

When he at last got back to Dick’s place, Jason flopped face-first into his (Dick’s) sofa. So tired. So _tired_. All that cheerfulness was exhausting. All that _niceness_. He was surprised he hadn’t snapped and kicked someone, but then, he was exactly that tired.

Unfortunately, after forty-five minute of post-work socialisation with Dick’s corrupt cop buddies (how could Dick just grin and bear it?), he had only two hours to rest up for patrol. He still needed to make himself dinner, too, but he was so tired the thought of eating was nauseating. The prospect of having to get up to cook was worse.

And to think, Dick would have been doing Titans work right about now. The man was insane. He’d have to be.

This was still only his first proper day in the life of Richard Grayson. He had five or so more to go before he could expect to swap back. He closed his eyes in sheer anticipation.

When he opened them again, it was dark out. Shit. Worse, Dick’s phone was buzzing. Jason groaned and retrieved it. There were a whole bunch of text messages from a contact listed as ‘Bruce’s Other Phone’. So, the Batcave.

_How did it go_

_Are you ok_

_Its ok if you don’t go out tonight by the way_

_Im starting to get worried please call me back_

Dick. Even as Jason read, another message came through. _If I dont hear from you by 10 im calling Wally to check on you_

That was the last thing Jason needed. Speedsters. Inevitably reminding the rest of the world how peppy they weren’t. And nice. Jason had had a faceful of nice today. He’d exceeded his niceness quota. No more. He tapped out a text - _you still have your job and all your colleagues_ \- and flopped right back onto the sofa.

In spite of himself he was waking up a little. As far as Jason knew, Dick had been up at nights since he was a kid, even before he started living with Bruce. Circus didn’t always do daytime performances. Jason’s mind might be shot, but Dick’s body was telling him it was about time to go work some more. No sleep! Only work. Adrenaline, please.

He wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. None at all. Still, he wasn’t feeling confident enough to patrol just yet. What would happen to them - all of them - if he missed a jump on a rooftop and went splat? What he _could_ do was spend the night training.

This bit was at least getting easier. When he was just walking around, anyway. He’d barely tripped over his own feet at all during the day. Maybe once or twice. Okay, a few times. Maybe Dick shouldn’t have such wobbly knees. How about that? But he got through Dick’s flexibility routines just fine. The whole thing. Tomorrow he’d have the foresight to record it and show Dick, just to prove he could.

The escrima sticks were a bit more challenging, but he was at least competent with them. Anyone in the family would notice the difference in competence level, but the average thug, not so much. Not when Jason had whacked them a few times.

Maybe he could go out for a little bit. Check out Bludhaven’s rooftops. All the tiredness was in his mind right now, and it wasn’t as if he had to speak to anyone or be nice to them. Just a quick trip out as Nightwing (a very weird thing to think), getting ready for maybe a longer patrol later. The family knew from experience that vanishing for a week was not a good thing for keeping order in town. It had to be the same in Bludhaven.

The next thing he discovered was that the Nightwing costume was extremely tight.

It was also lighter armour than Jason was used to. He liked a good thick layer of bullet-resistant material and a second layer to deter blades. Nightwing’s costume did not provide the same protection as Jason’s regular gear did. Nightwing relied on not getting hit at all. And _god_ , it was tight. It was one thing to look at Dick, wearing a costume that let people see the shape of just about everything (Dick, vain, attention-seeking asshole that he was, always laughed and said he had nothing to hide but his identity); it was another thing to _wear it_. It clung to his shoulders. It clung to his abs. It clung to his butt. It clung to his _crotch_.

He - he couldn’t go out in this. Could he? But Dick did, and Jason had promised that in public he’d act like Dick would. People would notice if Nightwing wore cargo pants for a week. That was just the way it was.

He’d done undercover work. He’d worn clothing he didn’t like before. Just…not like that. Bruce had never even asked. The most revealing thing he’d ever worn was a tank top, and he didn’t wear those in public if he could help it, either. He _liked_ his layers. Plus, they were much better for packing in the armour.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that creeps were going to creep and pervs were going to perv. He’d got _looks_ even when he was dressed in Dick’s modest, functional police uniform. Their behaviour was on them.

After one last adjustment of Dick’s still way-too-tight uniform (how did it not ride up? Was it magic? Was Alfred dabbling in the black arts?), Jason headed out the window. He could do this. It was only clothing, for chrissakes.

If Deathstroke showed up, though, he was out. Jason drew the line at dealing with Dick’s fanclub of older men. _Those_ creeps should go hit on someone closer to their own age.

 

—

 

It took a while for Dick to calm down. It was not helped by the fact that he couldn’t do the acrobatics he usually did to relax while he was in Damian’s body. Fit and trained as Damian was, he was too _short_.

Instead, Dick was forced to adjust his routines to the ones he’d done when he was a kid. Even that was a stretch, literally, and Damian was heavier than he’d been too. Everything felt different. Too different to really push himself and work off his feelings that way.

He gave up on it after only half an hour, feeling only a little better.

All his casework was in Bludhaven. His phone, too. His _life_ was there, the day-to-day part of it anyway. But he couldn’t just sit around here and do nothing but fight with his family. So instead, he went to find Alfred. “I’m going over to Babs’ place,” he said, once again feeling like a teenager, having to inform people where he was going and why. But if he knew Bruce and Alfred, and he did, they’d both freak out if he suddenly vanished from the Manor, under the circumstances.

“May I ask how?” Alfred asked.

Dick glanced out the window. “I’ll go as Robin,” he said. It was nighttime. It should be fine. “I’ll take a bike.”

“Will you inform Master Bruce as to where you’re going?”

He had to consciously stop himself from grinding his teeth, a reaction he’d picked up from Bruce over time. He hadn’t had to tell Bruce where he planned to spend his evening for years. “Yep.” No point having this fight now, he had to keep telling himself that. There was enough drama going on at the moment without him losing his temper and causing more.

When he returned to the Batcave to get changed and to check up on how Jason was managing his life, however, Bruce wasn’t there. It was something that was pretty hard to regret. Dick didn’t waste time looking. He wanted _out_.

Driving as Damian was fine. He went to his own bike first, out of habit, but realised his mistake soon enough. A few more messages to an unresponsive Jason, and then he kicked Damian’s bike into gear and started the drive into Gotham.

That was better. He could feel the wind on his face. No difference here. Everything around him was still too big, but at least this much he could do. By himself, even. For a few minutes he could forget.

Then he got to Barbara’s clocktower.

Usually, he climbed up and knocked on her skylight. It was more fun that way, and as Babs said, it helped her know who could get up to her windows and who couldn’t. As Damian, that route wasn’t going to work so well. There was a particular passage, not far below the clock itself, that was particularly tricky to navigate. Damian’s arms weren’t long enough for it.

So instead, Dick went in the front door and headed towards the discreet elevator that led, ultimately, to Babs’ apartment, punching his access code into the keypad. It didn’t work. That _was_ the sort of week he’d been having.

It was less than a minute before he heard her over the intercom. “Dick?”

He could hear her amusement. “Yep,” he replied. It had to be funny, from anyone else’s perspective. It just didn’t feel all that funny right now. Not to him. “Hey.”

“Hang on, I’ll let you up. The biometric scanners don’t think you’re you.”

“Technically, I’m not,” Dick said. “I’m Damian right now.”

“I can see that,” she replied, as the elevator started to rise. “I’d better change my security. How long is this going to be going on for?”

“Zatanna said a week. It’s been almost days and it already feels like forever.” The doors opened and Dick stepped out. Babs was by her central computers, hair just visible over a monitor. It was a lot harder to see her from this height.

When she heard him approach, she wheeled around. “Wow. You make Damian look even younger.”

“Thanks,” Dick said. Just what he needed. _And_ he had to start asking Damian more about his school, if he was going to attend the day after tomorrow. Dick hadn’t liked school much.

“So what happened?” Babs asked. “Bruce said you found an artefact and broke it, but you know what his reports are like. All business. He definitely hasn’t kept me updated.”

Dick told her. Right from the beginning. Who had swapped with who, Zatanna saying it was wait it out or suffer the consequences, what he’d had to ask Jason. He didn’t give her the details of Tim and Damian’s problem - it was their business - but he did mention that they were fighting. Which wasn’t exactly unusual.

Babs sighed when she heard that. “Of course they are,” she said. “Were they very angry over Jason voting not to switch back?”

“They haven’t talked to me about it,” Dick said. “Probably because I voted not to break the spell either. Maybe I should have voted to.”

Babs rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t start. You’re allowed to have preferences too, and you’ve got a job you want to keep. Tim and Damian are both mature enough to understand where you and Jason were coming from.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “I just don’t like to see them upset.” Upset didn’t cover it. Tim was so angry, and not just at Damian. He hoped that one day he’d manage to explain right that Damian needing someone to stand up for his emotional needs didn’t mean Dick didn’t care about _Tim’s_ needs.

As for Damian, Dick hadn’t been able to help. That had stung. That had stung a lot, because normally he would have been able to comfort Damian better. Was it the anxiety? Or was it that he wasn’t quite himself? Dick didn’t know and Damian wouldn’t appreciate the question.

“You’re brooding,” Babs said. “Go and do something. You’re already in Robin gear.”

Dick smiled. “Well, I know Damian wouldn’t mind,” he said. “I’ll call the house and see what he says.”

Maybe a good patrol would help him feel more normal.

 

—

 

Bludhaven sucked.

Jason was a Gotham boy born and bred, so he knew shitty urban landscapes when he travelled over their rooftops. Here some boarded-up windows, there some graffiti. Here a deep doorway sheltering two homeless men, there a rusty chain over a fire door. A lot like where he grew up, only Bludhaven had a predilection for pink neon signs that Gotham didn’t. If you asked Jason, it didn’t do the streetscape any favours.

Oh, and there were criminals in the streets below him. Lots and lots of shady stuff happening down there. Some of them were people just trying to get by. Others were the sort of scum Jason wouldn’t feel a moment’s regret over killing.

It was hard to just swing over it, but he really wasn’t steady enough for a fight just yet. It could get him killed. It could get other people killed. If he saw someone who _really_ needed his help right that instant he’d step in, but not for anything else.

According to Dick, and Jason’s own scant knowledge of Bludhaven’s underworld, the waterfront was one of the hotspots of crime in the city. That was where he went. It was a strange place. Gotham had a waterfront, but not like this. Gotham’s waterfront had two zones, one for the high-end evening entertainment, pricey restaurants and the like, and one for the dockworkers. This waterfront also had two zones, and again one was dominated by industry, but the other was for Bludhaven’s tourists. Regular people. There were tacky neon displays everywhere. Ice-cream shops. An arcade.

It was also being redeveloped. Lots and lots of opportunity for crime there, between the construction companies, the planning authorities, and the unions. He needed to check Dick’s notes about that, lest anything he did kick off something serious. Dick wouldn’t appreciate coming back to a multi-sided crime war.

He carefully negotiated his way through a locked-up construction site, then over a squat shopping centre. He perched on an overhanging crane and watched a pair of officers patrolling. He recognised one from the station this afternoon. Not an officer he’d spoken with, just one he’d seen in passing.

Jason had a bad feeling about those two. That was a product of his ill-spent childhood. He _knew_ what it looked like when cops were up to no good.

Even as he watched, they went into a dingy shopfront, one of the ones selling discount fishing gear. After a few minutes, they came out, one of them tucking an envelope into his coat. Not suspicious at all.

Protection racket. He knew that Dick _hated_ protection rackets. He hated them like Jason hated drug dealers, and for similar reasons. Dick would follow these two, now and at work.

So Jason did. No real hardship for him. He’d do the same in most circumstances. The problem _he_ had was going to be if he saw them at the station house.

Along the waterfront they went, them below, and Jason above. The cops made a few more stops as they went. No signs of a commotion, either. These guys had done this before. It was a routine. Scum. Fortunately, the waterfront rooftops weren’t too bad to navigate, even using Dick’s stupid body. He just didn’t feel steady on his feet. At least his reflexes were good. And if he stayed out of sight, nobody commented on the tight costume.

He’d made a note of three businesses paying protection money to these two goons when his comm buzzed. Jason flicked it on. “Who is it?” he asked.

“It’s me,” Jason’s own voice said. Always sounded weird to hear your own voice.

“Tim?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” Jason said. He couldn’t get too close to the corrupt cops while he was talking to Tim. He made another jump to the next building, trying to roll with his momentum and not _quite_ making no sound. "Can I call you back?"

“I just wanted to ask about those clothes you promised,” Tim said. He did _not_ sound well. Or it could be just Jason. “Alfred only had the one set of spares here.”

Oh, right. Jason hadn’t been keeping much stuff at the Manor. “How soon do you need them?” he asked, mentally running through all his Dick-related commitments. He could hardly see a free moment in the next few days.

“As soon as possible,” Tim said.

Jason frowned. “You okay? You sound…”

“I’m fine,” Tim said curtly. “I just need clean clothing.”

“Well, excuse me for not dropping everything to get you clothes,” Jason snapped. Quietly. He was still trying to follow these guys. He was starting to get tired again. Too tired to be all that angry, even. “You know how to get into my apartment. I _know_ you know. Go get them yourself, I’m up to my eyeballs pretending to be Nightwing. Anything else? Good.”

Damn it. The officers were out of sight. He’d have to hurry to catch up now, and he’d have to do it inconspicuously. Moving faster made things exponentially more difficult, especially as he was running out of rooftops. Up ahead the river met the harbour. He was not risking grappling over that, even if Dick would probably do it without hesitation.

He grabbed onto a ledge and clung to it, stabilising himself against another building with his legs. In his own body, he wouldn’t have been able to manage it. Finally, though, there was a benefit to this bodyswapping business - despite the awkward position, there was barely a strain in his muscles. He could hold for the time being and eavesdrop, as one cop said to the other, “Good haul tonight, Terrance.”

The other cop grunted agreement. Terrance. Jason had a name. That would save some time. Terrance and whoever he went on patrol with.

It was about time to call it a night. It had been a very long day.

The trip back to Dick’s was at least a quiet one. As quiet as Bludhaven got, which meant he still heard quite a few sirens as police cars and ambulances responded to emergencies. He swung into Dick’s window the same way he’s felt opening his front door that evening - entire body weighted down as if he were made of lead. He practically (okay, literally) stumbled through the last few end-of-night tasks. Warm-down, patrol notes, a _shower_. God, how good that shower felt.

And the real pity of it was, Jason thought as he collapsed into Dick’s bed for maybe four hours of hard-earned rest, he’d have to do it all again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, everyone, and thanks also for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> The next thing I write, I swear, Damian's going to be much nicer in it. I don't hate the kid, I promise, I just keep starting stories and at the start of them all he's mean.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and any comments/kudos/bookmarks!


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